Harry had taken one look at the scene that had greeted them in their rooms at Malfoy Manor, and promptly decided he would, indeed, take the entire brood out to the town, if only to get rid of this oppressive mood. Aster was lounging on the couch, in a mood he suspected was as close to 'sullen and brooding' as she ever got, phone in one hand, chin in the other, a bored and dispossessed expression on her face. Cepheus was down the hall in the library, unsurprisingly lost in books, and Saiph was out on the balcony, alone, because he'd told Aster he wanted some space about thirty minutes ago and had yet to come inside. To add to the mix was their newest addition, visibly unhappy and restless. Also, kind of filthy. Just thinking about them all was causing him to digress into a minor panic attack, so he promptly blurted out his intentions for an afternoon spent shopping.
At the very least, it appeared his plea to their materialistic sensibilities did not go unanswered.
"I'll never say no to shopping," Aster replied immediately, and Harry was thrilled to get such resounding confirmation right away.
Her little sister didn't look as convinced, frowning in Aster's lap as she crawled into it. Aster peered down at her. "Doesn't that sound fun, Cassi? We could go get new shoes and dresses, and maybe some bows for your princess braids!"
"I'm not a princess, I'm a pirate." Cassi said uncharitably.
Voldemort ignored the entire byplay with admirably willful selective hearing, turning to Harry. "You cannot be serious."
Harry glanced at him, nonplussed. "Do you have any better ideas?" He waved vaguely at the gaggle of children, all of whom had spontaneously appeared within the last few hours (or days, in Saiph's case). "Do you happen to have clothing suitable for young girls just lying around somewhere here? I don't think Draco's old hand-me-downs are going to cut it here."
Voldemort looked like he wanted to argue, but had nothing he could possibly say in response. Because Harry was right. And also, he still looked severely uncomfortable with the idea of having daughters, at all. He kept looking at Cassi like she was a small alien, or heretofore undiscovered, possibly deadly, magical fungus. If Harry wasn't currently exhausted by his entire life, he'd be terribly amused; for whatever reason, the existence of both Saiph and Cepheus was met by the Dark Lord without fanfare, but Cassiopeia and Asterope were incomprehensible. He'd had no idea how to handle Cassi earlier— Harry wondered at what point he figured out how to deal with the existence of daughters. Future Tom seemed an old hat at it— actually, he kind of seemed like a pushover, which was even more amusing.
Voldemort's returning expression was equally as nonplussed. "And do you intend to parade them around Diagon Alley yourself?"
"Who said anything about Diagon Alley?" Harry retorted. "London will do just fine."
Voldemort looked downright insulted. "Muggle London— "
Harry rolled his eyes, cutting him off. "Clothes are clothes, does it really matter where we get them?"
He sneered. "I will not have my children parading around looking like muggles."
Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. Loudly. Actually, he was almost in tears. Voldemort's expression only grew darker, until Harry finally straightened up and wiped tears out of his eyes. "That ship has long since sailed, don't you think? I mean, look at them."
He thumbed in the girls' direction.
First of all, aside from outer robes he could never really tell the difference between muggle fashion and magical fashion— magical fashion, as far as he could see, was just sedated and somewhat outdated formal muggle fashion. Some of the stuff was quite hideous, like Ron's formal robes from fourth year, and some of it just looked like costumes from one of Aunt Petunia's period dramas. At any rate, neither of the girls were dressed in something that could net them an appearance on an overly ambitious Victorian soap opera.
Voldemort took one look at them, fought off a grimace, and seemed to concede Harry's point.
"Why, Harry, are you suggesting I'm unfashionable?" Aster raised a mocking brow.
"Nonsense," he replied, fighting off a smile. "I daresay you might be the most fashionable person I know." Not that that counts for much, really, considering who he knows.
"I could walk off the cover of a fashion magazine," Aster declared, and something about the unrepentant vanity was so charming and somehow so entirely Voldemort he couldn't help but break out in a wide grin.
"I can't tell if you have no self-awareness, or way too much of it." Harry commented, mildly.
Voldemort looked just about done with all of them, collectively, and without even a word of remark he just up and left the room. Harry watched him go with a roll of his eye. He couldn't tell whether he thought the exit needlessly dramatic, or actually rather tame, considering the Dark Lord. At any rate, that seemed like agreement enough from such a surly tenant, so Harry considered his plan approved. Not that he was waiting for approval, or anything, but he was trying to attempt compromising.
He didn't think it was really working out all that well for him.
"Alright then, where to first?"
Aster just shrugged. "You know this place better than we do."
"I want a Harry Styles shirt." Cassi proclaimed.
"Honey, I'm not even sure if he's alive yet." Aster sighed. "How about the Spice Girls?"
Cassi appeared to be considering it as a serious alternative.
"Why don't we just go to Piccadilly and see what's around?" Aster offered.
"We're going to Piccadilly?" Saiph sounded both horrified and yet resigned. Impromptu shopping sprees were probably a staple in his life, considering his sisters.
"Is that alright with you?" Harry asked, turning towards him.
Sai's shoulders drooped in defeat. "I'll live— as long as ice cream is involved."
He grinned widely. "Of course."
"Harry,"
His grin slipped off his face from the sound of his name from such an unfamiliar tenant. He still wasn't used to the sound of it. He turned back around to see Voldemort returning from somewhere within his rooms. He looked— Harry narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him carefully— uncomfortable? There was a distinct downward turn to his brows, and a tension in his jaw that Harry couldn't quite understand.
He thrust out something in Harry's direction. Harry looked down. A chain unspooled down the Dark Lord's wrist, and when he opened his hand he revealed a jewel pendant. As it glinted in the sun, he could just faintly make out runes etched on the surface.
Harry looked back up, questioning.
"Wear it." He demanded, severely.
Harry almost rolled his eyes. By Merlin, he couldn't even give a gift without sounding demanding. He reached for it nonetheless.
He could sense some kind of magic within it. He dangled it in front of his face, eying it closely. "What is it?" He asked, because it certainly wasn't just jewelry.
"A portkey." The Dark Lord explained.
Ah, so he wasn't just storming out to make a scene, but actually leaving to fetch something useful. Harry was a little touched, despite himself.
Harry's eyes widened in recognition. "Like the one our kids wear?"
There was a long, mortifying moment of silence as Harry's brain caught up to his own words. Our. Our. Oh God, someone put him out of his misery. He wanted to fling himself off the balcony, except he knew from experience that wouldn't do him any good. From Voldemort's surprised expression, he appeared to be having a similar internal meltdown. Oh great. Now Harry's broken both of them.
Flustered, Harry fumbled to put it on before he could embarrass himself further. "Right. Well, thanks. This is, uh, really useful."
Then he spun around, feeling like his face was on fire. Aster was just coaxing Cassi out of her comfortable sprawl on the couch. Cassi looked up, caught sight of his expression, and frowned. "Are you alright Mum?"
"Fine." Harry choked out. His ears were burning. He clearly wasn't fooling anyone, because Cassi gave him a positively unimpressed look, and Aster was wagging her eyebrows up and down with a shit-eating grin in place. "Uh, let's go find Cepheus, huh?"
And with that, he ducked right out of the room, heart beating loudly in his chest.
He vacillated endlessly between pretending this situation was totally normal and fine, everything was fine, thank you, and quietly collapsing into internal freakouts. There was a hairline thin line between both sides of the cliff, where he was mostly normal and not quite panicking, and that was where he frantically tried to spend most of his time. It rarely worked out successfully, because there seemed to always be something coming like a blindsided bludger that upended his careful tightrope act. Unfortunately, he caused this one himself.
He was just one poorly timed thought away from a total, full-on nuclear meltdown, he was well aware. But then again, that was usually how Harry lived his entire life.
"This is fine," he said to himself.
It didn't take powers of foresight to realize he was going to be saying that word a lot from here on out.
/
Hermione pursed her lips, a deep furrow in her brow as she looked down at the magazine in her hands, and then back up at the mannequins in front of her.
Her own reflection was staring back at her from between the brightly colored fabrics; her thick hair thrown up on her head in response to the muggy London summer, wearing the same summer clothes she'd worn for the last few years. She avoided looking at herself too closely, instead eyeing up the mannequins in their cute outfits. Very similar to the ones the models in the advertisement were wearing. She looked down at it again, biting her lip.
This was the closest she'd found thus far on her quest. Perhaps this was the one?
But seeing the clothes in person… Hermione was suddenly struck with indecision.
She'd summoned up all her Gryffindor courage to brave the terribly crowded, sweltering tube and make her way down to Oxford Street— a place she usually avoided at all costs— all in the name of finally procuring clothing of her own. She wouldn't even be here at all if it hadn't been for her mother's offhand comment earlier in the week. She'd pointed out Hermione's clothes were starting to be a bit too small, and lamented the fact she'd have to go about buying more. Most girls Hermione's age chose their own clothing, she was well aware. Her mother had bought her clothes since Hermione had been born. It hadn't even crossed her mind that maybe she shouldn't be making her mum go through an effort she really shouldn't have to do anymore. Even her schoolmates chose their own clothes, despite the fact they all spent most of their life in uniform. The thought had never even occurred to her until this summer. Then she had to scramble to figure out what that even meant. How was she supposed to know what to buy, when there were an unfathomable amount of options? What was good, and what was bad?
As she usually did whenever she encountered a problem, she went about attempting to research it. That meant purchasing a bulk amount of research material; in this instance, fashion magazines. Unfortunately, the results had been… mixed. They all ostensibly insisted they were the most 'trendy', but they all also showcased entirely different sets of clothing! How was she to know what was true? This called for field research.
This was why the weekend found her waking up early to take the tube downtown, armed with her fashion magazines. After scrutinizing quite a few storefronts on both Regent and Oxford street, she'd come to the disappointing realization that there was no 'one truth' when it came to clothing. All the clothes looked quite different, but they were all— judging by the crowds going in and out of the stores— very popular.
And as Hermione stared up at the latest storefront, she had yet another terrible realization.
Just because it was popular didn't necessarily mean it would look good on her.
She couldn't help but grimace even as she admired the print of the dress on display. The mannequins all looked like a bunch of exceptionally well dressed aliens... she couldn't imagine that dress would look as good on her as it did on the display.
"I honestly didn't imagine buying my own clothes to be this difficult." She sighed, lowering the magazine. "How are you supposed to know what to buy?"
"I think, more than anything, that's a matter of preference." Said a voice next to her.
Hermione whirled around, startled. There was a girl around her age standing next to her, staring up at the same display.
She looked over at Hermione, smiling. "The secret is to pick clothes you like the look of, and find comfortable enough to wear all the time." She added, conspiratorially.
That's probably easy for you to say, Hermione can't help but think. The girl next to her looked uncannily similar to the girls in the magazine. She can't imagine it was all that difficult to find fashionable clothes that looked great on her. With a face like that, she could probably wear a burlap sack and it would still look fashionable.
"I've never bought my own clothes before." Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened in mortification. Had she really just said that aloud? A sixteen year-old girl who's never bought her own clothes? Oh Merlin, this girl is going to think her some kind of social pariah.
Instead, the blonde just grinned even wider. "Well, this is a great place to start. This department store is famous!"
Hermione blinked a few times. "It is?"
"Oh yes. Can't go wrong. Why don't we go inside and shop together?" The other girl suggested.
Hermione clasped the magazine to her chest. "Err— is that really alright?"
"Of course! Shopping is more fun with friends." The blonde said, and then pushed the doors open and walked inside.
Stunned, Hermione didn't move right away to join her. Friends? Hermione didn't think she'd ever made a friend that easily in her life. She always found it such a difficult endeavor, and yet apparently she'd made one just like that. Hermione wasn't sure what else to do but follow her.
The interior was a blessing of cold air. Hermione couldn't help a small sigh of relief at the reprieve from the humid summer day outside. Her relief was overtaken by her shock when she saw the sheer size of the interior. Overwhelmed, she found herself rooted to the spot. If she thought it was difficult enough to choose from the available storefronts, she may as well just give up now.
Before she could really fall into despair, a sundress was thrust into her hands.
"Why don't you try this on?"
Hermione stared down at it with as much trepidation as she would a sleeping Mandrake. One wrong move and it might just irreparably damage her eardrums.
"I… I don't know…" Was this the sort of dress that was fashionable? It didn't look anything like the ones she'd studied up on earlier.
"It can't hurt, right?" The girl pointed out, cheerfully. "If you don't like it, you can just take it off!"
Hermione supposed she had to start somewhere. She was escorted to the dressing rooms to try it on, her companion insisting she'd peruse the floor looking for other things that she thought Hermione would like.
"I'm Aster, by the way," she doubled back to poke her head back into the dressing room. "So just give me a holler if you need anything, yeah?"
Bewildered, Hermione nodded. It took until she'd darted back out for Hermione to have enough presence of mind to open the door and shout back: "I'm Hermione!"
The other girl— Aster— was far enough away that she just gave a thumbs up in response.
It wasn't until her sudden companion (friend?) was gone that Hermione had a moment to collect herself.
She stared down at the dress in her hands with a conflicted expression.
It's true, her mother's comments had played an outsized effect on this, but there was more to the story than that. Truthfully, Hermione was itching to get out of the house and find something to do. She, Ron and Ginny had been trading letters fastidiously ever since Harry had disappeared, and she didn't envy them being cooped up inside their home like this. Hermione was thankful for her muggle parents, who were aware there was some danger in the Wizarding World, but not of the specifics or the actual severity of it. Beyond that, Hermione had the whole Muggle World— or at the very least, a sizeable portion of the London metropolitan area— at her fingertips and hadn't made any use of that freedom all summer. Taking the weekend for a shopping outing had the added bonus of both taking Hermione's mind off of her missing friend as well as expanding her woefully ill-equipped wardrobe.
She sighed deeply as she slipped the dress over her head.
As she had told Ron in her last letter to him, there was nothing they could do. The Order was already doing everything in their power to search for their missing friend, and with Ron and Ginny on lockdown like this and Hermione stuck in the Muggle World for her safety, they could only hope and wait for answers.
Ron's response had been irate, to say the least. He was never one for inaction, and the idea of just sitting around waiting for news positively galvanized him. He kept insisting that Hermione at least could start the search in London, or even go to Surrey to find out what happened straight from his muggle family. Hermione had attempted to point out how impossible his request was, but Ron, unfortunately, had no basis of understanding. London alone had millions of people that called it home, and that was to say nothing of the tourists crowding into it for the summer. Finding Harry— assuming of course that he was even in London at all— was a lot like trying to find a needle in a swelteringly hot, miserably loud haystack.
"So?"
The voice on the other side of the dressing room curtain startled her into near dropping the shirt in her hands.
"What do you think?"
Hermione glances at her reflection nervously.
Objectively speaking, it was a rather flattering dress. She'd been worried the cut across her chest might be rather immodest, but upon seeing it on her she found it actually rather flattering. And the pinched midsection she had assumed would be uncomfortable and tight instead accentuated the curve of her waist in a way that somehow managed to make it seem like she had curves. The hem was long enough to give her room to move around without accidentally flashing something she shouldn't, but was still short enough to be trendy. Hermione blinked at herself. To be honest… she thought she looked quite cute. Which was something she had never thought she'd say about herself.
Taking a steady breath, she gripped the dressing room curtain. Then without further ado, she ripped it open, not unlike tearing a bandage off.
She couldn't help the grimace her expression twisted into though— something about all of this was just so… so embarrassing. Hermione was never one for these sorts of activities, and she felt uncomfortable and awkward attempting to do them now. Hermione didn't have girl friends to parade around downtown London with, stopping at every ice cream parlor and cheerfully dipping into various storefronts to try on clothes just because. Even if she did, she didn't think she'd enjoy the experience overly much.
"I love it!" Aster enthused.
Hermione didn't realize she was holding her breath until she let it out in one fell swoop that threatened to buckle her knees out from under her.
"Y— You do?" She squeaked out, surprised.
The blonde nodded seriously. "Oh, for sure. The cut looks great on you! And the pattern is so cute."
Hermione stared down at the soft lemon yellow cotton, printed with small daisies that blended together so well they had looked like patterned diamonds when she'd scrutinized herself in the mirror.
Aster canted her hip, hand on her waist. "So? How's the fit? Not too tight?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, not at all. It's actually quite… quite comfortable."
The other girl grinned widely. "Perfect! Even if it is cute, it's pointless if it's so uncomfortable you won't bother to wear it."
Hermione nodded. That was… surprisingly pragmatic advice. Normally Parvati and Lavender wore whatever looked best, comfort be damned. It was a common happenstance to trek up to their dorm and find them attempting odd acrobatics to get in and out of their jeans, complaining all the while. Ginny was somewhat the opposite; she'd rather wear what felt the best, even if the other girls snidely made comments about her 'frumpy boy's clothes' when she wasn't looking.
Aster's grin widened. "Here's the real question though— do you like it enough to buy it?"
Hermione considered this. That was indeed the question. "You know… I think I really do."
The blonde brightened. "Awesome! Let me just try these on and let's check out after!"
Hermione realized the other girl had a couple of her own dresses slung over the crook of her elbow. She flagged down the attendant once again and hopped into the dressing room next to Hermione's.
"You'll tell me if it looks terrible, right?" The other girl joked.
Not knowing what else to do, Hermione found a comfy spot on the sofas outside the rooms. "Oh, um. Yes, of course." She doubted anything could possibly look terrible on the other girl, though. She'd been joking about the burlap sack thing earlier, but upon further thought Hermione really believed Aster could not only pull it off, but make it fashionable enough to start a trend.
"I'm super into the black shift with the striped tee underneath it, but I'm worried it's going to make me look like a primary school student." Aster was chatting away as she got changed, tossing off her shirt with such little fanfare it nearly flew out of the dressing room.
Hermione just blinked. "Um…"
Fortunately, it did not seem like Aster was looking for her opinion on current fashion trends, as she continued on without preamble; "But I just can't bring myself to wear the mom jeans. I'm all for the high waist, but other than that I find them horrifically unflattering."
"Or the padded blazers." Aster added, with a dramatic sigh. "My shoulders are bad enough without enough padding to make a rugby player cry."
Hermione fidgeted in her seat awkwardly, feeling her discomfort rear its ugly head once more.
"You don't… um..like your shoulders?"
This felt like yet another rite of feminine passage that Hermione failed horrendously at. Her dorm mates always complained to each other about their appearance— usually nitpicking stuff that seemed so irrelevant to their actual appearance— to such an exacting degree the conversation seemed rather rote. Hermione had never quite managed to get the hang of the song and dance of it all though, and she was regretting it now. She winced at her own words. That sounded awful, didn't it? Aster was probably rolling her eyes behind her dressing room curtain.
"Oh, it's not that," the other girl finally replied, sounding as amicable as she had earlier, to Hermione's immense relief. "It's more like— there's some stuff that just always looks good on me, and some that doesn't, y'know? You just have to know what to go for; no one can look good in everything."
A warming sentiment, but utter blasphemy, Hermione can't help but lament. She still held the utmost certainty Aster could pull off any outfit, not matter what she said.
Still, Hermione was beginning to wonder if that was because of the girl's appearance, or her dazzlingly affable charm.
Aster thrust the curtain open with the same intensity Hermione had earlier but with three times the charisma, beaming down at her with a smile at full voltage and proving Hermione's theory correct. It likely had more to do with her magnetic personality and less to do with her looks.
"What do you think?" She asked, giving the pleated skirt a twirl. "I want that preppy Clueless vibe but without all the actual prepiness."
Hermione brightened immediately. "Oh, I loved that movie!" And, she actually knew that movie. It was very rare for her to get any kind of pop culture reference, so she was ecstatic at the thought of finally having one to share with a friend.
Aster grinned mysteriously. "It's a classic."
The blonde gave another twirl, and then examined her reflection in the tall mirror down the hall. "I think I'm going to go with the crop top though— for the full nineties aesthetic."
Hermione tilted her head in confusion. What did she mean by that?
Before Hermione could ask, she'd squirreled back into the dressing room and was getting changed back into her original clothes with an efficiency that spoke of years of experience in store dressing rooms. She was out in a flash, carrying the skirt and a small scrap of cloth called a crop top in one hand.
"You aren't going to try on the others?"
Aster shook her head. "Nah— I promised my family I'd meet them back by Oxford Station in time for a late lunch so I probably don't have time."
"Oh, I see." Hermione looked aside, somewhat downcast. Of course the other girl had plans. She obviously couldn't hold Hermione's hand and guide her through the wild world of girl's clothing forever, as much as Hermione might want to cling to her and insist she did.
Aster peered at her. Something about her smile seemed downright mischievous. "Do you want to come with me?"
Hermione blinked, taken aback. Something about the other girl's twinkling eyes made her feel somewhat, err, apprehensive. Yet she was rather charmed to be offered the invite, so she allowed; "I— um, would be delighted! If it's alright."
Aster laughed. "Oh, it's plenty alright."
/
It was not alright.
Hermione took a great, shuddering breath.
"Harry. James. Potter."
Startled, the boy in the patio chair jumped up in his seat, and then frantically scrambled around to face her. His expression was very, very surprised. It quickly turned into a wince of fear when he caught sight of her expression.
"Oh— uh! Hermione! I can explain!"
Hermione's brow twitched. She was so angry she didn't even know what to do with herself. She felt as if steam was coming out of her ears. She was clutching her shopping bag so hard she was sure she was giving the dress inside permanent wrinkles. "Oh? Can you?"
"Yeah, this is— err— a misunderstanding!"
"Misunderstanding?" Hermione repeated, with a dangerous smile. "A misunderstanding, really? While everyone we know worries themselves to pieces over your safety and here I find you enjoying the London sunshine without a hair missing from your head— a misunderstanding?!"
Harry grimaced. "I can explain."
"Sure, you can explain." She agreed, crossing her arms. Her brow was still twitching madly. "And then you can apologize. To everyone. For worrying them sick!" She kept trying to keep her voice at a civil decibel but kept failing miserably.
Harry grimaced further. "Ah… yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further.
Somehow, this is what did her in. Just seeing him, completely whole and alive, surprisingly well dressed and making a chaotic disaster out of his hair as he always did— she suddenly burst into tears. Harry leapt up in shock, reaching for her.
"Hermione!" He shouted, horrified.
"Bloody hell Harry, you didn't even think to leave a note or something?" She choked out, as she reached for him too.
"I— I really didn't." He replied, arms tight around her. A high, somewhat hysteric bubble of laughter escaped him. "You've no idea Hermione, these last few weeks have been wild. I don't even know where to begin."
"Well," she sniffled. "Just start from the beginning, then."
Harry pulled back, smiling. "Always the logical one. What would I do without you?"
"Disappear off the face of the Earth for weeks." She snapped back; just because she was relieved to see him okay didn't mean she still wasn't mad as all hell at him. "You utter arsehole."
He chuckled weakly. "Yea… okay I deserve that. I really didn't mean to make anyone worry, I was just so— things have been so—
"Mum," interrupted a long-suffering voice, from behind Harry. "Aunt Mione's yelling at you again? What did you do this time?"
Hermione choked.
Harry cringed.
"Mum?" She shrieked.
"Hermione… maybe you should sit down for this." Harry said, weakly.
"I— I— " Flushed and bewildered, Hermione could hardly protest. Harry pulled out a chair, and, utterly stunned, she dropped into it.
She looked around the table, studying the scene before her properly for the first time.
There was Harry, looking painfully awkward as he stood there rubbing the back of his neck, hair sticking up everywhere, but surprisingly lacking the usual shabby clothing that constituted his summer wardrobe. Actually, he looked rather fetching, wearing a pair of slacks and a button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes in particular looked quite lovely in the summer sun, and it was with a start that Hermione realized he wasn't wearing any glasses. He looked… changed, even though there was nothing overtly different about him.
In the chair across from her, looking equally awkward and perhaps a bit guilty, was a boy much younger than them. He looked to be around the age of a first year, as he fidgeted in his seat and pushed his melting ice cream around in its bowl. He was a truly good-looking child, although the effect was somewhat dampened by his anxious expression. He seemed to be making a concerted effort not to meet her probing gaze.
The last occupant of the table was the young girl who had spoken earlier. She was a ways younger than the other boy, certainly not Hogwarts age yet, with cheeks still round with baby fat. She too was a good-looking child, bow lips, almond shaped eyes and a cute button nose. She looked perhaps a bit too cross for a girl her age, swinging her legs beneath her as she stabbed sullenly at her ice cream. Unlike the boy, she had no issue meeting Hermione's gaze. She had bright green eyes— very painfully familiar green eyes.
Hermione turned an accusatory look towards Harry.
Harry didn't even have to say anything.
"Harry," she bemoaned, massaging her temples. "Didn't you learn this in third year? Terrible things happen to wizards who mess with time!"
Harry blinked at her, stunned.
"You— you know?"
Hermione gave him a flat look. Then she gave a pointed look at the two children woodenly attempting to eat their ice cream and ignore the awkward tension at the table.
Harry sighed. "I suppose you're not considered the brightest witch of our age for no reason." He conceded.
A hand reached out to give Harry a commiserating pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to grab us some ice cream, yeah? I think this situation calls for some sugar."
Hermione nearly gasped. Her mouth opened in shock.
In her total surprise at seeing Harry again, she'd completely forgotten how she'd ended up at this muggle ice cream parlor in the heart of muggle London to begin with. The one who had dragged Hermione along to meet her family. Her eyes flew to the girl she'd met at the department store, grinning roguishly at her best friend.
Oh.
Oh.
"Oh, err— yeah." Harry blinked rapidly, looking out of sorts. "Thanks, Aster."
The blonde girl just gave him a thumbs up, and headed inside for the counter. Hermione watched her go with a blank stare, still trying to make sense of things. She didn't look a damn thing like Harry, but her similarity to the younger girl was quite obvious.
Harry sighed heavily once she was gone, dropping into his own chair like he was heading for his own death sentence. Considering the hole he'd dug himself this time, Hermione supposed the metaphor wasn't too far off. How in Merlin's name was he going to explain this to everyone? Even Hermione could hardly wrap her head around it.
"For the record, it's technically not time." Harry began, sounding defeated.
"Technically?"
"Time is a part of it." He waved a vague hand to the two children. "They're from the future, but not our direct future."
Hermione's brow raises in understanding. "Ah, I see."
That actually made a surprising amount of sense.
In fact, it was a rather fascinating idea. Time as Hermione understood it was fluid but ultimately inflexible. To travel more than twenty-four hours was possible but likely to unravel and have disastrous consequences; mainly, to the person who was attempting to travel through it. Time was inflexible for a reason; to prevent loopholes and paradoxes. If a wizard tried too hard to manipulate time they might just end up in a place outside of time itself. Hermione shuddered. Time had never been one of her better subjects, but she knew enough to stay far away from it.
But the subject of alternate dimensions, however… now there was an idea that bore further introspection. Theoretically each chain of events could set off a new and different reality, but Hermione would have to have access to the Unspeakables library to get further information on it.
Or, she supposed, she could just ask the people in front of her who were living through it.
"So, uh, events that happened for them won't necessarily happen here." Harry added, sounding rather insistent.
Hermione pulled herself out of her musings. "Yes? That is the theory of alternate timelines."
"Right, yeah, so just… you know, keep that in mind." He ended, awkwardly. He looked like he was attempting to smile, but it came out much like a cringe instead.
Hermione glanced from Harry, to the young boy, then the young girl, and back again. Harry's tone was worrying.
Sure, the whole time-traveling (or dimension-traveling, she supposed, but that was just arguing semantics) children thing was weird, and she didn't know why he would just disappear into thin air after finding out about them, or meeting them, or whatever happened, but why go about it like this If? If anything, shouldn't his first thought been to run straight to the Weasley's? If anyone knew how to corral small children, it was Molly Weasley. Sure, he couldn't keep them at the Dursley's for obvious reasons, but to just disappear? Without even telling the Order?
An uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach when she recalled Harry's last— err— impression of the Order. His explosive argument with Professor Dumbledore at the end of term, his grief over Sirius's death. Harry might not have parted on the best of terms with them, she supposed.
Still, they were Harry's support. His family (current company notwithstanding). Surely he knew he could come to them, no matter what sort of situation he ended up in? No matter what tension there had been between Professor Dumbledore and Harry last term, their headmaster had still shown up when he needed him most, at the Department of Mysteries, Order in tow.
Hermione's eyes widened.
Unless, of course… he couldn't go to the Order for help.
And, given the current political state of things, there was one obvious reason for that.
Hermione's mouth thinned. She leaned over towards Harry, whispering furtively; "They're not— " She couldn't help her cringe as she plowed on; "Parkinson's, are they?"
Harry reared back as if struck, expression disgusted. "What? Merlin, absolutely not!"
Hermione let out a breath. Her brow was pinched. "But, I just— I don't understand. Why didn't you go to the Order, then? They would have helped you, you know. The circumstances are unusual, but you hardly did anything wrong."
Harry let out a long breath. His hands were clasped tight around the sides of his chair, knuckles white. He looked… pained.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
As he was still floundering, Aster sauntered back over with her hands full of ice cream. Hermione startled at the sight of her, leaning back in her chair to give Harry some space as the other girl came up to stand over his shoulder. She gave them both a long, scrutinizing look.
Then she put one of the cups down, and held out the other two to Harry and Hermione.
"Okay, why don't you guys go… take a walk around Piccadilly or something." She flapped her hand out in the direction of the crowded sidewalks.
Harry and Hermione both exchanged a look, and then glanced back towards the crowded crossing with mirrored dubious expressions. Aster rolled her eyes.
"I'll stay with the kids. You two go… talk."
She all but shoved Harry out of his chair at that, and Harry seemed successfully cowed enough to acquiesce with nothing but a bewildered, somewhat frantic look. They ended up just outside the covered patio area, both holding cups of rapidly melting ice cream, at a loss for words. When Hermione darted a quick look behind her shoulder, Aster had already settled into Harry's seats and seemed to be totally at ease entertaining the kids. Harry's kids. Whom she knew, evidently. Whom she was family with, as she'd mentioned earlier.
Harry cleared his throat. "Err— right. Well. I guess we should just… walk?"
Hermione nodded. "Right."
It was the most awkward she'd ever felt with Harry since that awful fourth year period where she had to shuttle her way back between Harry and Ron. And even then, that awkwardness was mostly a combination of her own annoyance over the situation and Harry and Ron's combined sullenness. The current situation was… much more fraught. That was just a silly teenage feud, with somewhat concerning, mysteriously homicidal undertones permeating the entire school year. This was time travel combined with the burgeoning start of the next magical civil war. It was no wonder Hermione's stomach had turned itself into knots. She couldn't even force a bite of her ice cream— pistachio, her favorite, so clearly Aster was just as well acquainted with her in her world as the little girl who called her 'Aunt Mione'. Perhaps even more so? Was Aster also her niece in some manner, or was she—
"Is that— are you two…" Hermione stammered. "Is she your wife?"
Harry choked, spitting out his ice cream. "What?!"
Hermione scratched her cheek. "Well, it's just. The kids are, well kids, and then she was just so… I mean… mature, I guess. And she seems to be pretty good with them, and I just—
"Oh hell, Hermione, no, no, definitely not." Harry swore furiously. He dropped his spoon back into his cup, looking as if he'd given up the pretense of even trying to eat it as well. "She's— she's their older sister. My, uh, daughter."
"Oh." She blinked rapidly. "Oh, I see."
No, she didn't see.
None of the kids looked very much like Harry. The young boy had Harry's eyes; she noticed that immediately. The younger girl had the same color, but an entirely different shape. And Aster— she would have never guessed a relation. It hadn't even occurred to her as they were shopping; not even a subconscious hint of familiarity. They likely took after their mother, then.
"They…" Hermione struggled for words. Merlin, this was awful. "They're very pretty." She blurted out. "Your wife must be beautiful."
This was evidently the wrong thing to say. Harry tripped spectacularly on an uneven tile of sidewalk and nearly face-planted into the concrete. He managed to catch himself at the last moment on the back of a park bench, but the look he gave her was as stunned as if he had brained himself on the ground. There appeared to be a war within him between unmitigated horror, and mortifying embarrassment. Neither appeared to win, so he sort of just looked like a fish gasping for air.
Finally, he struggled back to his feet, with a mumble of apology to the couple on the park bench. He staggered forward, as if in a trance, and with a frown of concern Hermione stepped closer.
"Harry? Are you alright?"
"No," Harry choked out. "No, I'm really not."
Hermione really wasn't sure what was wrong with what she said, but maybe Harry was still just really shy about the whole thing? She had no idea why, though. Ignoring the time travel bit it was hardly surprising to hear he'd grown up, gotten married, and had kids. Was that not just inevitable, in some respects? Hardly anything to be embarrassed about. Actually, she was sort of curious about herself. Since it technically wasn't time travel, surely knowing couldn't hurt? It was just a potential future, is all. Although she wasn't sure what answer she'd want to hear. Perhaps she'd rather not know. She thought Divination a lark for a reason, after all.
Now that she was thinking on it, maybe Harry was in the same boat as her, but without the choice to remain in ignorance.
"It's not— I don't have a wife."
"... Ah." Hermione nodded. "Sorry. Girlfriend, then. Err— baby mama?"
Harry's face was turning an interesting shade of puce. He looked as if he wanted to melt under the sun and evaporate into the atmosphere.
"No. No girlfriend. No baby mama." He took a shuddering breath. "... Husband."
Hermione's brows rose high. Ah.
Harry didn't say anything else as they crossed into the Circus proper, nimbly dodging through the summer holiday crowds. He tossed his uneaten ice cream into the nearest trash can. After a beat, Hermione did the same. The pretense was appreciated, but really there was no way either of them would have an appetite.
"I see," she said, slowly, when it became clear Harry wasn't going to add anything. His expression was tight as he resolutely stared ahead, refusing to meet her gaze. "And is that… a surprise, to you?'
He exhaled heavily, running a jittery hand through his hair. "I— no. Not… not entirely." He was chewing terribly on his lip. Hermione wanted to stop him before he chewed right through it, but resisted the urge to nag him. "The husband thing, no. It surprised me at first, but I mean, come on. You remember how often I stared at Cedric all fourth year."
Hermione cracked a smile at the reminder. It was true, fourth year was full of bickering, lethal tournaments, and Harry floundering around as he quietly mooned over Cedric while insisting he was only into the older boy's girlfriend, Cho.
The reminder did the opposite to Harry, who's face crumpled at the reminder of his deceased first crush.
He actually looked close to tears, stopping in the middle of the street to press the palms of his hands to his eyes. Hermione gasped softly, immediately concerned. She looked around quickly as nearby passerby started to mutter in annoyance; after spying an open ledge nearby, she hauled him by the elbow and pushed him into the seat. He still wasn't looking at her. Actually, his fingers were gripping hard into his hair, to the point she worried he'd rip it out. Hermione wasn't even sure if she'd ever seen him so visibly upset— after Sirius died, probably, and after he held Cedric's dead body in his arms and shouted at a crowd of people that Voldemort was back. He'd been devastated both times, it was true, in a somewhat similar fashion to his reaction now.
That should have been Hermione's first indication of what was to come.
If she wasn't so overwhelmed by her concern for her best friend, and was actually thinking with her full facilities, she might have managed to come to the right conclusion. As it was, she was watching Harry with sympathy as he had a bit of a public meltdown, patting his shoulder.
After all— every time Harry got this upset, Voldemort was somehow involved.
"Fuck, Hermione. I don't know what to do." He gasped out, voice wet.
"Oh, Harry…"
Finally he dropped his hands. His eyes were red and a bit watery, but there were no tears. He looked defeated. Resigned.
"It's Voldemort." He said.
At first, Hermione didn't understand.
"You— your husband?!" She squeaked.
He nodded glumly.
She felt numb. Like the whole world had dropped off, and all the noises and shouts and unruly tourists of Piccadilly Circus had up and vanished.
"... How?" She asked, once she'd gotten her wits about her.
Then she shook her head furiously. "Wait, no. Why?"
"Peace treaty." Came the flat response.
Realization dawned on her. Yes. Yes… she supposed that… would be a potential, if not unexpected, avenue…
"I…" She had no idea what to say.
He bit furiously into his lip again, brows creasing. He blinked rapidly, and this time she could see tears threatening to fall. She realized, belatedly, that he still wasn't wearing his glasses. How the hell had he managed to walk in a straight line this whole time? Harry was blind as a bat.
"And it's just— I mean, Merlin, Hermione, I can't believe I'm saying this, truly I really can't, but it wasn't that bad." He babbled, breath hitching. "I don't— it's hard to explain— but I saw a different future. A different dimension, where Voldemort and I didn't get married and Hermione, it was awful. There was so much fighting. So many people I loved were just dead and I don't even know if we actually even won at the end, or if all that violence was for nothing—
He broke off with a choked sob, scrubbing his arm across his face. His sleeve came back visibly wet.
"And I just, I know it's a betrayal, but I can't have that. I can't have that future, I can't be responsible for— I can't."
"Oh, Harry," she knelt down beside him, a placating hand on his knee. "It wouldn't be your fault."
He shook his head vehemently. "It would, Hermione. If we go to war with Voldemort and all these people die, and I knew there was a way to avoid it— how could that not be my fault?"
Hermione's mouth folded into a thin line as she surveyed him. "But… if it's not what you want… if you're forced into that— how could you expect us to live with that?" She challenged.
Harry sighed shakily, eyes lowered. "It's not like that though, Hermione. Or it isn't, in the world where Aster and the others come from. It actually seems— well, not entirely ideal, but hardly the worst outcome. It seems liveable. According to Sai, Voldemort and I— at one point, anyway, briefly— actually sort of seemed to… get along?"
Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. Surprised didn't seem to cut it. Who was Sai? More to the point, getting along… with Voldemort? It wasn't surprising— it sounded downright impossible.
Harry caught her expression, and chuckled weakly. "I know, it sounds unbelievable. But it really is true. I… I saw it with my own eyes, sort of. It doesn't seem all that bad. In some ways, it's even almost nice."
Now Hermione was really staring at him like there's something wrong with him.
"Like— the kids go to the Burrow for the holidays." Harry blurted out, rushing to assure her. "With the Weasleys. They go to school with all of their cousins, and they're— they're just so normal, you know? The kids, I mean. They're great."
Hermione nodded dumbly. Yes, she knew that. From first hand experience. Aster was… she honestly, genuinely, cannot fathom the idea of her being related to Voldemort. The thought is just too bizarre.
"It's a nice future." He finished, soft. "It definitely had it's fair share of problems, but the fate of the muggles and muggleborns isn't one of them. The fate of my family isn't one of them. How can I not want that?"
His voice was quiet and fearful at the end; hesitant, as he met Hermione's gaze with a look that seemed resigned more than anything. As if he expected Hermione to hate him for this.
Frantically, Hermione searched for something, anything, to reassure him.
"I really like her, you know." She blurted, apropos nothing.
Harry stared up at her with wide eyes.
"Aster, I mean." She clarified, in a vain attempt to sort her words out of the garbled mess they were in her head. "We went shopping. It was really fun. She's fun. Very clever. And, err, well, fashionable, I should say."
Harry let out a startled laugh at that.
Hermione cracked a timid smile. "I can see why you would— well, not want that, per say, but also not be unagreeable to the idea of it. I can see why you would look at her, look at them, and, ah, reconsider things."
Harry's amusement faded. "Unfortunately, they're a package deal with some more unpleasant realities."
Hermione sighed, and nudged Harry's shoulder until he scooted over enough for her to wedge in beside him.
"I can't say I have an answer for you," she said, brow furrowed. "But I see now why you would be so… torn about it all. And why you wouldn't want to go to the Order with this."
They both winced at the reminder.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, delicately. "It might be a bit too much of a shock."
Now that the shock had settled in, Hermione found herself morbidly curious about the idea of it all. "So how exactly did this all happen?"
Harry took a breath, and told her.
/
"He's really not that awful is the unfortunate thing, 'Mione," he lamented, once he got over the awkwardness conversation and was really on a roll, "I just really can't reconcile it. And the kids just really bring out a different side of him, y'know? Aster in particular seems to derive a great deal of enjoyment from annoying him and he doesn't even really do anything about it! I've seen him crucio people for far less!"
"She does seem to have a bit of a mischievous streak in her." Hermione noted, drily.
"A true marauder, that one," Harry agreed.
They had eventually, after many loops through the overcrowded Picaddilly Circus, found an overpriced vendor haggling sodas and gave in to the temptation of a cold drink on a hot day. They'd returned to the slightly less crowded Regent St, wandered around, and eventually found a small park off the main streets offering shade and seating. Hermione worried over leaving the two young children— named Cassi and Sai, she'd learned through Harry's garbled retelling of the last few weeks— but Harry had waved her off, pointing out that as far as guardians go, Aster was far more equipped to deal with them than Harry or Hermione were.
"Well, it is in her blood." Hermione pointed out, with a small smile.
Harry blinked rapidly, as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Yeah." He said, awkwardly. "I guess… I hadn't even thought of that."
His expression crumpled, as he collapsed forward into his hands. "Oh, Merlin. He killed her grandfather, Hermione. How am I supposed to be okay with that?"
Hermione watched her friend suffer from what seemed to be the third or fourth minor breakdown within the last hour with a sympathetic expression. Harry was just… so torn. It was so easy to see. He didn't want to like Voldemort; he was hating and condemning himself for it, in fact. He found it to be a betrayal to everyone he's ever loved— to his own parents, to his friends, to the people Voldemort had killed. Advice was hard to summon up, in such a strange and novel situation. Which was saying something, because Harry regularly found himself in surreal situations every damn year, and yet Hermione usually had some words of comfort to offer him.
Hermione wasn't even entirely sure how Harry currently felt about the Dark Lord, and that was likely because Harry himself didn't know. But his feelings for his children were fairly obvious. He adored them all to pieces, but especially the little boy. Sai, he said his name was, the one who had barreled into his life on accident (or maybe on purpose? It was rather unclear) and summarily upended everything he'd ever known in his life. Harry always brightened up at the mere mention of him; he was apparently rather churlish in the mornings, could be a bit moody at times, but was also such a sweet and loveable boy. Not at all what Harry had expected from a child the spitting image of Voldemort (Hermione, having never actually seen him in his apparently more human form, was withholding judgement on that one) but such a pleasant surprise nonetheless. He'd fallen in love with the boy at first sight— no, even before that, from what he mentioned about his precursory dreams.
From what Hermione could see, she could hardly blame him. And who would? Who could possibly condemn a parent for unconditionally loving their children, no matter where they came from? It wasn't Harry's fault for taking one look at the boy and finding himself longing to have him. None of this was his fault, really, and yet he was the one burdened with it all.
With this terrible knowledge of the future.
No wonder they tell wizards not to meddle with time, Hermione digressed.
"I think it's rather unfair of you to expect yourself to be okay with all of this," Hermione decided on, delicately, once she'd gathered her thoughts. "I mean, think about it. Everything is out of order."
Harry peered at her from his spot curled in his own lap, wary eyes just visible from behind his fingers. "In what way?"
"Well, let's think about the order of events in— the 'Other World' let's call it— and how they affected the 'other you's life. First, you say you became the Master of Death, a position highly coveted by dark wizards. Voldemort's interest in you, then, was understandable. Then he offered a peace treaty in exchange for marriage. Your other self agreeing to it was also entirely understandable. You are self sacrificing to a fault and you would do anything to avoid bloodshed and the pain and suffering of your loved ones." Hermione stated, so matter-of-fact Harry could only sigh in response.
Hermione ticked off her talking points with her fingers, in full lecture mode, "We have to imagine that, at least at first, such a relationship would be… strained. Hopefully civil, but really nothing more than a political arrangement. Now you've also mentioned necromancy being a desired trait within magical bloodlines, and having heirs to be a main part of your agreement. Perhaps once things settled down in the wizarding world you both would decide it was a good time to settle that."
Harry made a noncommittal noise. "I've been led to believe it was something of an unexpected accident."
Hermione blushed. "Ah. Right. Well, either way, you were married first, for some amount of time. You weren't basically strangers to each other. Maybe you held positive emotions for Voldemort at the time, or maybe you were neutral, or maybe you still secretly wanted to stab him with a dinner knife."
Harry cracked a smile at that.
Hermione smiled back, continuing; "And then you had a child— or children, actually— and of course you would love them. Harry, of course. I don't think that was ever in question. I think, whatever your feelings for their father, you would love them unconditionally at first sight."
He sighed, nodding. It really was a given.
"After that, well… from what you've explained of it, it sounds like everything just sort of— settles?" She hedged, scratching her cheek. "But it didn't happen overnight. Not months, certainly not a few weeks. It seems like you're so upset because you keep trying to reconcile our present to an indelible future that was years in the making."
Harry pursed his lips; he still looked rather sullen and stubborn, but he was at least making an effort to listen to her, which likely meant he could acknowledge she was right even if he couldn't be objective about it.
His shoulders hunched up to his ears, and he seemed to curl up on himself. The hand he had on the arm of the park bench was clenched tight until the stark white scar on the back of his hand became prominent. Hermione was about to say more, but thought better of it once she gauged his reaction. If he had something on his mind, he'd either share it or he wouldn't, but either way he'd only do it in his own time. He was just stubborn like that, she thought fondly. So Hermione relaxed against their shared park bench, staring idly up into the branches of the tree above them. Harry wasn't the only one who had a lot to think over; this was decidedly not how Hermione had expected her London outing to go today.
Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath. "Hermione," he began, voice small.
"Yes?" She replied, without hesitation.
"If I… I mean, if I end up deciding that I want…" He looked as if he was struggling desperately to say something he'd really rather not. "Like, just hypothetically, would you be, I mean, how would your feel if I—
Hermione decided she really ought to put him out of his misery.
She reached out to place her hand over his. "I'll support you no matter what you decide to do, Harry." She interrupted, earnestly.
Harry let out a long breath, like all the coiled up tension just up and left his body. Hermione smiled, happy to see the weight of the world leaving her friend's shoulders. It occurred to her then that he must have been so upset over this for quite some time, worrying himself into knots over the reactions of the people in his life that he valued.
"Thanks, Hermione, seriously." He croaked out. "I have no idea what I'd do without you."
"Run around in circles, eating treacle tarts and crying," she answered without missing a beat.
He choked on a surprised laugh. "Well, you're not wrong."
She grinned in response. "And, Harry, try not to worry too much about everyone else, alright? We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. It'll all turn out okay, you'll see."
"I wish I had your confidence." He lamented, shaking his head. "Ron's going to lose it."
Hermione let out a hysterical laugh. "Ron? Ron will be easy. He might be upset for a bit, but not for long. I think this year and the events at the Ministry really brought home to him how dangerous this war really is, and what it really means that his whole family is in the Order." She paused. "Now Ginny, on the other hand…"
Harry groaned, collapsing into his hands. "Oh Merlin, I completely forgot about Ginny…" He turned to her with a grimace. "She's going to have a fit, isn't she?"
"Well, she did spend most of her life carrying a giant torch for you," Hermione pointed out, unable to hide her own amusement. "Aside from a brief period during our second year, when she became obsessed with a, in her words, 'charming young man' named—
"I totally forgot about that." Harry groaned again. "She's definitely going to hate me."
"Maybe for a little bit," Hermione agreed. "But out of jealousy, mostly."
"Jealousy over who?!" Harry asked, wildly.
Hermione blinked. "... Both of you? I guess?"
"I can't think of this," Harry bit out, shaking his head. "I'll start going through everyone I know and trying to think how they'll react, and then I'm going to make myself physically ill."
Hermione blanched. He had a good point. "Right. Yeah. Let's not do that, then. Why don't we talk about—
Harry jolted upright beside her, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He already looked somewhat ill, but now all the color had drained from his face.
"Harry?" Hermione called, worriedly. "What's wrong?"
He wasn't looking at her though, eyes focused on some indeterminable point on the other side of the park.
Then he grimaced. "Don't freak out."
That, if anything, only further alarmed her. "Harry?"
She got her answer soon enough, when the snappy pop of apparition resounded through the park. Her gaze immediately turned towards the noise— a nearby apple tree swaying in the light summer breeze— and wished she hadn't.
Ah.
So… that was Voldemort.
Hermione definitely didn't remember him looking that attractive at the Ministry.
Harry, you've been holding out on me, she thought, her sudden panic turning into a bubble of hysterical amusement.
Harry stood up abruptly, feeling his heart flip upside down in his chest.
In the dappled shade beneath the apple tree, Harry could suddenly see with intense clarity the man Voldemort could become. Not a kind or benevolent man by any means, but surprisingly reliable, and maybe even in some ways loyal to a fault. He might be entirely inept on actually connecting with his kids on an emotional level, but Harry was fairly sure he'd go to the ends of the Earth for them nonetheless. Not at all the sort of person Harry would ever think could be his friend, but someone he could somehow come to trust. For all his countless faults, Harry couldn't think of his attempts at fatherhood— now and in the future— as anything but earnest and whole-hearted. It was something that clearly didn't come naturally to him, and yet he had put forth the effort anyhow.
"I— " He swallowed dryly around all the feelings clogging his throat.
The Dark Lord's eyes snapped to his companion, frozen stiff on the bench behind him, and Harry forced past his conflicted feelings to protectively stand between his friend and the man's gaze.
"Ah, Hermione, this is, uh," Harry began, awkwardly.
"I'm aware." Hermione squeaked out, equally as awkward.
It was probably for the best that Voldemort's eyes swept over her, then promptly dismissed her. "Where are the others?" He asked, addressing Harry alone.
Harry blinked. "Um...I left them at the ice cream parlor."
Voldemort was unreactive for a moment; then he scowled. "Alone?"
"Aster's with them." Harry replied, sounding defensive.
"Was that meant to be reassuring?" Voldemort returned, caustically, crossing his arms. The gesture was so surprisingly human, Hermione just sort of stared blankly at him.
Come to think of it…
She ducked her head to the side, desperately fighting off a smile.
If this was how he looks now, that certainly explained a lot about Harry's current predicament. Trust Harry to casually leave out the fact that the Dark Lord was mind-bogglingly fit. Honestly, couldn't he have mentioned that earlier? No wonder the other Harry didn't put up much of a fuss over the idea of marrying him. At the very least, he's really quite nice to look at.
"You do realize, not only is she currently older than me, but she also has at least ten times more experience with children than either of us combined?" Harry commented, mildly.
That seemed to stop the Dark Lord before he could really start criticizing Harry in earnest. He opened his mouth, seemed to acknowledge the veracity of Harry's words, and then just looked terribly put upon.
Without another word to Harry he turned his back to them and took out something from his pocket that looked a bit like a vintage pocket watch. Or perhaps a compass? He was certainly using it as a compass, glancing down at it and then heading in the direction where, presumably, his wayward children resided.
Harry sighed deeply, watching him go with a desperately conflicted expression.
Hermione felt for him, really. Even she didn't know what to make of any of this, and she was rather impartial to it all in comparison to him.
"I should probably go after him…" Harry sighed, resigned. "Before he lights Muggle London on fire."
"Would he do that?" Hermione asked, alarmed.
Harry tugged warily at his hair. "If someone has the misfortune of pissing him off… probably."
Hermione's eyes only widened in increasing alarm. Well then. "... You've got your work cut out for you, don't you?"
Harry's shoulders dropped. "You have no idea."